


She's Only Just Beginning

by myladyriver



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, young River
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myladyriver/pseuds/myladyriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So is that why you’re here, then? Checking up on my beginning three years after the fact?” River asked smoothly, raising one eyebrow questioningly.<br/>“I- Well-” he tried, flustered and unsure how to respond. She laughed placidly, the familiar, low rolling sound seeming to calm the Doctor.<br/>“It’s all right, I won’t hold it against you, Sweetie,” River assured him, squeezing his shoulder as she spoke. His dark jade eyes shone with a strange combination of long buried pain--guilt? And either hope or love, River couldn’t tell which.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Going To Take More Than a Hand (To Turn This Thing Around)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River had never expected the Doctor to make it easy for her, and no one knew better than she that there was a lot of work to be done before she became River Song, but his words were a comfort nonetheless. It was nice to know that he had not intended to abandon her for three full years right at the start. The Doctor opened his mouth, apparently about to go on, but she cut him off.  
> “You’re rambling, Doctor,” she interrupted with a small smile. He gazed at her with faint amusement.  
> “Beginnings are infamously tricky, and ours tend to be especially difficult. I just want to keep yours from being more so than it already has been,” he said truthfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from The Killer's "Battle Born."

River sat alone at a table in Luna University’s impressive library, books and papers scattered across the ebony tabletop. She was half hidden by a wall of stacked tomes. Her glasses had slid progressively farther down her nose until they were nearly in danger of falling off and her explosive blonde curls tumbled messily around her face, her bun having come partly undone. It was late, so late that she was the only one in the library now, but that was how she liked it. River had a deal with the librarian that allowed her access to it at night -- a silver key, kept on a bracelet around her wrist. She preferred the solitude; the quiet helped her to concentrate. Peace was something her life had been devoid of for so long, and while she reveled in the rush of dangerous expeditions (she loved a good tomb), she took comfort in the quietude of the library at night.

No one except River was supposed to be able to enter the library now (it was well past midnight), so when she heard faint footsteps approaching, she set down her pen and listened carefully. One hand easily found the small yet effective gun she kept handy at all times, though her expression remained neutral. She lifted her sharp green eyes from her papers, surreptitiously scanning the immediate area. A quiet scuffling noise came from behind the nearest bookcase, and River switched the safety off her gun. A tall figure appeared, but the library was too dark for River to see his or her face. And then, in a wonderfully anticlimactic act of clumsiness, the Doctor tripped into the pool of light around River’s table. Her ever-present anxiety that _someone_ would return for her faded to the back of her mind, and gave way to a myriad of emotions that she would come to forever associate with the Doctor: mild annoyance, profound relief, frustration, awe, a thrum of excitement, concern, indulgent exasperation, and a great deal of care.

“Doctor!” she exclaimed, surprised. “I almost shot your _ridiculous_ hat off!” She got to her feet, setting her gun on the table as she did so.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the Doctor muttered as he strolled over to where River stood, removing said hat (a fedora) and twirling it in his hands. She filed that comment away for future reference, quite sure that she had never shot any of his hats. He frowned at her lack of an offhand retort, only then noticing the slight confusion in her eyes. It _was_ rather well concealed, and she wondered at his ability to read her so easily.

“Or perhaps it would be. How early is this for you, exactly?” the Doctor queried, making his way around the table to her. “These are really quite charming, by the way,” he remarked seriously, tapping the bridge of her reading glasses. River quickly took them off, having forgotten she’d been wearing them, warmth flooding her cheeks at the close proximity of this impossible man.

“This is the first time I’ve see you since you gave me the diary,” River replied, her voice deliberately expressionless.

“Oh, goody! I mean, I’ve been bouncing around your timeline for awhile now, trying to find you just a bit after Berlin, but every time, you say you’ve seen me before. The TARDIS hasn’t been very helpful. How long has it been, then?” the Doctor said in a rush, rambling impressively little.

“Three years,” she answered shortly, more subdued than before, the loneliness not quite as well hidden.

“Oh, River- d’you mind if I call you that? Would you prefer Melody, or do you go by another name now? I wouldn’t want to assume anything,” he asked, sounding strangely apologetic.

“I...go by River,” she responded slowly. Oh, there was _so much_ that she had left unspoken, about the agonizing time she had spent asking herself the very same questions the Doctor had just voiced. She was certainly no longer ‘Mels,’ the juvenile delinquent and childhood friend of her parents. ‘Melody’ had been thoughtfully considered, as it _was_ her given name, after all. But it seemed too sad and tasted of failure, and had been eventually discarded. The idea of making an entirely new name for herself had been appealing, and yet it somehow felt like it would have been a betrayal of self and of The Doctor. So that left ‘River.’ This was the name that held the most meaning of all, and therefor caused the most conflict for her. ‘River’ was the woman the Doctor loved, someone wise and strong and worthy. She didn’t feel like that woman yet, but choosing that name came from a deep fear of _never_ becoming the Doctor’s River. It was a conscious promise to her future.

The Doctor was quiet for a moment; he simply looked at River, his eyes full of understanding. For who could grasp the importance of a name more than the Doctor?

“Well then, _River_ ,” he began again, smiling, “I do apologize. I meant to give you time, time to start your own life, gets things going and all. I didn’t want you to feel _pressured_ or think I was _hovering_. Your life is your own now, fully and completely. The last thing I wanted was to sway your decisions in any way. I didn’t meant to leave you alone for three years though, I’m dreadfully sorry. I hadn’t realized.”

River had never expected the Doctor to make it easy for her, and no one knew better than she that there was a lot of work to be done before she became River Song, but his words were a comfort nonetheless. It was nice to know that he had not intended to abandon her for three full years right at the start. The Doctor opened his mouth, apparently about to go on, but she cut him off.

“You’re rambling, Doctor,” she interrupted with a small smile. He gazed at her with faint amusement.

“Beginnings are infamously tricky, and ours tend to be especially difficult. I just want to keep yours from being more so than it already has been,” he said truthfully.

“So is that why you’re here, then? Checking up on my beginning three years after the fact?” River asked smoothly, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

“I- Well-” he tried, flustered and unsure how to respond. She laughed placidly, the familiar, low rolling sound seeming to calm the Doctor.

“It’s all right, I won’t hold it against you, Sweetie,” River assured him, squeezing his shoulder as she spoke. His dark jade eyes shone with a strange combination of long buried pain--guilt? And either hope or love, River couldn’t tell which.

“What are you doing in the library at this time of night anyway? It’s nearly 1:00 a.m.!” the Doctor cried, swiftly moving on from the emotionally heavy moment. However, when she let her hand slip from his shoulder, he caught it in his and held on securely.

“Studying,” River answered simply. She shrugged. “I find that I do the best work at night -- and people can be ever so distracting.”

“Have you been getting enough sleep?” the Doctor asked suddenly, his tone colored with concern. Without a moment’s hesitation, he brought his free hand up and lightly traced the skin around River’s verdant eyes. (Had he been thinking and not merely acting, he would remembered this was not a River who knew him as he knew her, and he would not have touched her so intimately.) The Doctor frowned at the dark circles and slight puffiness that were apparent under closer inspection.

“River,” he chided absently tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear as he sighed. “You _must_ take better care of yourself.” She didn’t flinch or pull away from his touch, as much as his care surprised her. River was uncertain how to respond; she wasn’t accustomed to people looking after her. Perhaps sensing this, the Doctor mercifully changed the subject.

“Your parents send their love,” he said, reluctantly lowering his hand from her face. “Oh, and they gave me a note to read to you. Actually, they gave it to me ages ago, but as it was intended for the first time we met after Berlin, I’ve been carrying it around for...well, awhile.” He pulled a folded piece of blue stationary paper out of suit’s breast pocket, and began to read.

“To our most treasured Melody. The Doctor said he’d be going to visit you when you were in school, not long after Berlin. But knowing him, he won’t have ended up where he meant-” (the Doctor snorted indignantly) “-so Rory and I aren’t sure exactly when you would be reading this. When the Doctor said he would be visiting young you, we asked him to take us to see you, but he spouted some gibberish about crossing personal timelines and some other spacey-wacey nonsense. All of which basically translated to, ‘She’s not ready to see you, and besides, I’d rather have her all to myself.’” Here, the Doctor paused, blushing furiously. River bit her lip as he shifted awkwardly, and decided that she enjoyed being enough to make him squirm.

“Er, sorry, I hadn’t read this through beforehand,” The Doctor apologized, “As I had planned to visit you six months after Berlin, I _did_ think it would be unfair to spring your parents on you without warning. They do love you immensely, but you’ve not had the most traditional of relationships with them.”

“Thank you. Even now, I’m not entirely sure what I would say to them. It’s incredibly messy, on both sides. I do appreciate the letter, however. Was that it, or...” River gestured at the blue stationary still clutched in the Doctor’s hand.

“Ah, no, there’s a bit more,” he replied, nervous at the prospect of what Amelia had written next. He looked up from the paper, and at River’s nod, he continued reading.

“So if we’re not allowed to see you yet, remember that Rory and I, we’ll always love you. I know foreknowledge has the ability to bring about the end of the Universe and all that, but just know that in your future, you’ll get to know us all over again. The four of us will do absolutely extraordinary things together. All our love, Amy and Rory. PS: Oh, and one more thing, Melody. Take care of the Doctor for us?” As he finished reading, the Doctor raised his eyes to meet River’s, just as she blinked away a surge of emotion and valiantly tried to combat her growing exhaustion. She glanced down at the note, thinking of Amy and Rory; the childhood friends she had betrayed by trying to kill Amelia’s Raggedy Man, and the parents she’d been taken from. After everything, they’d forgiven her, or so it would seem, and loved her still. _Who would have thought?_ she mused.

Seeing the direction of River’s gaze, the Doctor quickly handed her the letter, which she re-folded neatly before tucking it safely into her blouse. She enjoyed his reaction as he watched the letter disappear between her breasts; his eyes went wide, and she could practically hear him wondering what else was hidden there. Then he seemed to realize he was staring at her cleavage, and promptly turned red, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. She chuckled quietly, amused and oddly touched by his adorably guilty expression. _Bless._

“I- We- You. Bed,” the Doctor stuttered, putting on his best authoritative face, which was terribly unconvincing and had absolutely no effect on the woman before him. She slowly raised one eyebrow, the smirk playing around her mouth enough to keep the Doctor blushing, though he wasn’t altogether sure why.

“Why, Doctor,” she purred, “I didn’t know you had it in you to be so very direct. I must say, I’m impressed.” He swallowed convulsively, vaguely realizing that his mouth had abruptly gone dry. He very nearly groaned in frustration. _This woman_ , he thought. _Of_ course _she’d have this affect on me, even now, as young as she is._ Logically, he know that this was _not_ the woman he had married and made love to, not yet, at any rate. His body, on the other hand, clearly had not received the memo. The same lips he had kissed a hundred thousand times were now smirking suggestively at him. The infinitely soft, obstreperous honey-blonde hair that he had twined his hands through in both passion and comfort was now piled half-heartedly at the crown of her head, ringlets having come loose to frame her face, which was more known to him than any other’s. Those blue/green eye that had gazed at him with every conceivable emotion were now staring back at him, softer and younger, more conflicted and easier to read than he had ever seen them. All the same curves he knew and loved so well, and such soft skin, which would be kissed by a million, million different suns to make up for her days in Stormcage. Not as resilient, not as patient nor as sagacious, not as sad but more broken, yet still his River, whom he had promised to always, always care for.

River watched curiously as the Doctor’s expression changed, going from barely restrained lust to poorly concealed love.

“River,” the Doctor began carefully, seeming to bite back an endearment, “you need rest. Sleep. In a bed.”

“I’m not much of a sleeper, to be honest,” River warned. Her words were meant to resist The Doctor’s, and her voice was light, but the Doctor had spent centuries deciphering the meaning hidden behind what she said.

“Of course,” he murmured. “The nightmares. Everything they put in your brain, it’s no wonder. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, brushing the pads of his fingers along her hairline, ghosting over her temple. River shivered at his touch, and he drew back, looking contrite. She smiled, as if to say, “it’s all right, really.” The tremble was born from the welcome, but new, feeling of being shown gentleness. River didn’t ask how he knew -- how could he not? He came from a future in which they trusted one another absolutely.

“Yes,” she replied shortly. “You can help me carry all this to my flat,” she said, gesturing at the array of books and papers that littered the table.

“All right,” The Doctor agreed immediately. “Here to help,” he added with a grin.

“In that case, let’s put you to work,” she responded as they turned back to the table. River handed the Doctor three book bags; while he went around the table closing and collecting books, she worked on sorting her papers into the appropriate files. They were silent as they packed up, each lost in their own confusing thoughts.

“You have your own key to the library?” the Doctor asked in surprise, sounding impressed. River locked the door behind them on their way out, each of them weighed down with two bags bursting with books and folders.

“Mm. I love libraries, and the librarian trusts me,” River replied. “You seem like the kind of person who could understand an appreciation for libraries,” she noted as they walked across the silent, dark campus toward her flat. Due to her promising position within the school, she had been granted her own flat off to the side of the campus.

“I love knowledge and I’m absolutely crazy about the _smell_ of books,” the Doctor answered cautiously. River knew instantly that he was holding something back, though, and it intrigued her.

“What about libraries themselves?” she prompted curiously.

“I...used to be a big fan of libraries, but to tell you the truth, they rather lost their appeal awhile back.”

“What happened?”

“I’ve found that the larger the library, the more extensive, the more wonderful a place it is. Do you agree?” River nodded, then realized he could not see the slight motion in the darkness.

“I do.”

“Yet the greater the library, the easier it is to lose the people you're with,” the Doctor concluded vaguely. River wondered why he sounded so sorrowful, and knew that was all she was going to get out of him on the subject, at least tonight.

“But _having_ people to lose, in any sense of the word...That’s something to be grateful for,” River countered, letting them into her home. The Doctor was startled by how easily she had reminded him of something so profoundly important, although he hadn’t thought there was anything left with which she could surprise him. Not that he would ever make the mistake of underestimating her, no; it was merely an assumption based off the fact he had been married to her for several centuries. The Doctor watched her for a long moment, taking in her sloppy bun, heather grey University jumper, and faded blue jeans. He smiled to himself; it made him inexplicably happy to see her dressed so casually, so clearly in her element when it came to her studies, and no doubt excelling brilliantly.

“You’re right,” he agreed when she turned back to him, and followed her inside.


	2. Sing For Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time he had found the kitchen, the Doctor’s chest ached with the weight of the guilt he felt at having left River on her own for so long. He then thought of how patient she had been with him in his past -- her future -- and fell a little bit more in love with this impossible, mad woman, this archaeologist, the child of the Ponds and his TARDIS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter comes from the song of the same name by Muse.

“You can put those down right through here,” River called, looking back over her shoulder as she disappeared around a corner and down a hallway. The Doctor hurried to catch up with her, still toting two heavy bags of books without complaint. Seeing a light flicker on in a room at the end of the hall, he ducked inside. _Ah,_ he thought meekly. _River’s bedroom._ The bed looked like had been made in a hurry, appearing invitingly slept in. The Doctor redirected his gaze to a desk in the far corner, where River was currently unloading the books she’d borrowed from the library. He made his way cheerfully over to her, placing a hand gently on her upper back as he came up behind her. She flashed him a brief smile to cover up her confusion, took the books from him, and silently started arranging them on the desk. He could only admire her, everything about her, from her practiced and relaxed motions to the logical organization of numerous texts, from how soft and unusually huggable she looked in that jumper to how perfectly those well-worn jeans embraced the contours of her legs above the knee. It was only with great difficulty that he resisted the urge to wind his arms around her from behind to find out just how huggable she was.

“No wonder you didn’t want to bring my parents along,” River remarked, seemingly out of the blue. The Doctor recognized her dangerously sly tone, but he couldn’t resist asking anyway.

“And why is that, Miss Song?” he inquired, sounding just a little too oblivious and curious to not be aware of what she was doing.

“Because,” River started, revolving to face him with an entertained smile, “you wouldn’t be able to get away with ogling me so openly.” His mouth opened and closed uselessly as he tried to figure out what to say. He briefly contemplated denying it, but they both knew better. “Mind you, you’re not exactly doing a bang-up job of it _sans_ parent Ponds, either,” River added, the sparkle in her sea-green eyes letting him know that he was forgiven.

“River, River, River,” the Doctor sighed, shaking his head. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“You tell me,” she returned coyly, looking up at him challengingly. He laughed with genuine delight, content in the knowledge that in this regard at least, his wife would never change.

“Spoilers,” he grinned impishly, taking great pleasure in finally being able to turn that word back on her after all those years of River’s infuriating smugness. Not that she actually understood the joke _now_ of course -- it was just for him, really.

“Well, for now, would you like a cuppa?” River offered with uncharacteristic hospitality. Her expression remained clear under the Doctor’s scrutiny, and she innocently pulled the scrunchie out of her curls, letting corkscrews of blonde hair frame her face.

“...Yes?” the Doctor replied, so cautiously that is came out sounding more like a question than an answer.

“Then you may go make one while I get cleaned up,” River said with a small smile, pulling her jumper off over her head in one swift motion. Realizing that she was undressing, the Doctor knew he needed to hurry along before she got any further. He was rather doubtful as to how much control he would be able to maintain were River to lose any more layers, and as he firmly reminded himself, _This was not his wife. Yet._

“Would you like one as well?” he asked graciously, hoping to cover up the slightly flush that had creeped into his cheeks. River was admittedly interested, and found the idea of the Doctor doing something as domestic as making her tea rather novel.

“Thank you,” she answered, and the Doctor nodded. It wasn’t until she made a shooing motion that he remembered he was supposed to be doing something elsewhere. The fitted, forest green tank-top she wore was more than a little distracting.

“Right! Tea!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together once and spinning to face the door.

“I’ll come find you when I’m through here,” River called after him. The Doctor gave her an exuberant salute before trotting off down the hallway.

_Now, if I were River’s kitchen where would I be?_ The Doctor followed the hallways back to River’s front door, in order to start at the beginning. He did find her kitchen eventually, after wandering around her home for a bit trying to take in the personal touches of her dwelling without violating her space and snooping. It was sparingly decorated, containing only the necessities. However, there were bookshelves lining nearly every wall, and stacks of books could be found in most of the corners and beside the couch. From the state of her home, The Doctor gathered that she rarely had visitors (everything was a singleton), and that even River herself didn’t spend more time here than she had to. And from the abundance of books and the nightmares he knew she was plagued with, the Doctor also surmised that she spent more time reading than sleeping.

By the time he had found the kitchen, the Doctor’s chest ached with the weight of the guilt he felt at having left River on her own for so long. He then thought of how patient she had been with him in his past -- her future -- and fell a little bit more in love with this impossible, mad woman, this archaeologist, the child of the Ponds and his TARDIS. As he set about putting on the kettle, the Doctor found his thoughts absorbed by the woman of the hour, whom he knew was just down the hall changing. He almost dropped the mugs upon hearing the shower come on, something he knew River would certainly not appreciate. _But good grief. River. Shower. River in the shower. Showering. With the no clothes and the water and the soap; a wet, soapy River. Brain, shut-up!_ When he nearly scalded himself by grabbing the body of the kettle, the Doctor knew that he desperately needed to get his mind off of his gorgeous, naked wife-not-wife in the shower scarcely twenty feet away. He busied himself by looking for River’s collection of tea, finally discovering it in a covert pantry. _Leave it to River to have a clever, tricky, secret pantry_ , he laughed to himself, with no small amount of pride.

Though the process was not without mishap, the Doctor ended up with two steaming mugs of tea, carefully set out on coasters on the coffee table in the living room. By a rare stroke of fortune, the Doctor’s unfamiliarity with River’s kitchen (and his initial difficulty in finding it) had coincided perfectly with River’s quick shower; the Doctor had only just sat down on the couch when River sauntered into the living room. The Doctor’s breath caught in his throat at the vision of absolute beauty that stood before him, his eyes eagerly taking in her appearance. She was wearing a simple, yet elegant dark green nightdress that fell to just above her knees. The nightdress was held up with thin straps, exposing River’s toned shoulders, and though it wasn’t fitted, it was gathered at the waist, and did not leave much to the imagination. She had only towel-dried her fantastic hair, and the tousled, damp look was very nearly more than the Doctor could handle. As she walked over to the sofa, he caught a whiff of her shampoo, as well as the clean smell of bar soap, which brought back the horribly distracting images of a wet, soapy River. Her cheeks were pink with warmth from the hot shower, her face wonderfully natural and so very kissable after having been washed of any make-up. The Doctor was often surprised by how short River truly was, as she so often wore heels, but her presence was no less commanding. She was absolutely breathtaking.

The Doctor rose rapidly and somewhat clumsily as River came to a stop beside him, his already poor coordination suffering due to the fact that his olfactory senses were being besieged with the scent of her soap, warm skin, and something that was purely _River_.

“River,” he murmured simply, for what else could he say? What could ever be _enough_? He knew he was not allowed to caress her in the way he so deeply desired to, and he found that he did not know how to express what he felt without the aid of touch. He restrained himself to gently resting one hand on her bare shoulder for a fleeting moment, before gesturing toward the couch. She nodded and sat down, the Doctor following a second later. Neither spoke until River picked up the mug of tea that was sitting on her side of the coffee table, smelled it, and smiled.

“Peppermint. Lovely choice.”

“Two sugars, no cream,” the Doctor added, hoping that River had always taken her tea the way _his_ River did. Another nod was the only indication that he had made her tea correctly. The Doctor grasped his own mug of tea (Chamomile), and half-turned on the couch to sit opposite River, who had tucked her legs beneath herself to face him.

“So what are you really doing here?” River asked, after several minutes of silence. While she waited for him to answer, she cupped her hands around her mug and inhaled the minty smelling steam appreciatively.

“I’m here to see you,” the Doctor replied easily.

“Why?” Rive prompted bluntly.

“Because...” The Doctor paused to form a coherent sentence, knowing he had to be careful here. “Because you are very important to me, as I’m sure you realized in Berlin. And because while I know you, I don’t know _this_ you, and you do not know me, not really.”

“Oh, I know a great deal about you, Doctor. I know about the races you obliterated, the planets you destroyed, and the danger you pose to the future. I also know of the people you’ve saved, and how many times over the Universe owes you her continued existence. I know of the more notable times you’ve appeared throughout history, cropping up most often on Earth, always traveling with a...companion, usually a young woman.” Here River grew quiet, looking up from her tea for confirmation. The Doctor sighed.

“I’ve no doubt you know much _about_ me, River. But that does not me you know _who_ I am, only what I’ve _done_. D’you see?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he searched River’s expression for understanding. However, her eyes were too guarded even for him.

“All right, then. Why do you travel with various women?” she asked, tilting her head curiously. _Oh, this should be a fun conversation,_  the Doctor thought sardonically. _Let’s explain to my wife why I travel with young human women. Sure._ He took a minute to compose himself, set down his tea, then began to speak.

“When I travel alone for too long, I lose perspective. I make mistakes, mistakes that...hurt people. I grow arrogant, and I forget what really matters. These friends that I travel with, they view the Universe with younger eyes. They see hope when I’ve long since given up looking for it, and maybe most importantly, they tell me when to stop,” the Doctor explained slowly, his voice even. When he continued, though, he sounded pensive and ever so sad.

“I don’t go looking for them, but somehow they always find me. They get to see the beginning and the end of the Universe, and so much in between. I get to be a little less lonely. If I can show someone with no great aspirations or a low opinion of herself that she can save worlds, a space whale, or even the Universe itself...That makes up for it, right?” The Doctor’s voice grew high in distress, and his eyes were pleading with River for the absolution he would never allow himself. A good portion of River’s façade crumbled then. She set her mug back down on the coffee table before meeting the Doctor’s gaze. _Such old eyes_ , she thought, her heart constricting in her chest. She shaped one hand to his cheek, soothingly stroking his skin with her thumb, and rested her other hand on his where they twined anxiously in his lap.

“Make up for what, Sweetie?” River asked, her voice low and calming, gentle but pushing for the truth, unafraid to find it, however dark it may be.

“For losing them.” The Doctor’s voice broke, though he spoke barely above a whisper. “Some get taken far, far away...Some choose to leave me, some have to _forget_ , and some...Some die.” He ducked his head, unable to look River in the eye as he spoke the last bit. He couldn’t tell her that her death outweighed everything else he had to atone for. It was one thing he could never, ever make up for. And not just that he had failed to keep her safe or that she had died for him, but that it hadn’t been _her_ Doctor who had been with her when she’d died. He hadn’t been able comfort her, he hadn’t been able to tell her he loved her. Oh, she knew of course, better than he had at the time. But he had let her down in every way imaginable. The look in her eye when he had asked who she was...The Doctor shook his head to banish such horrible thoughts. River was here with him now, and she was safe, and she had so much ahead of her.

River was startled when a smile made its way onto the Doctor’s face, beginning around his mouth and finally lighting up his ancient eyes.

“Come, you beautiful woman. You’re exhausted, and you need sleep. I’ve kept you up long enough,” the Doctor said seriously, smile still in place. With that, he placed a tender, yet courteous kiss on the back of her hand, and got to his feet. Returning his mug to the kitchen, he left River alone to collect herself.

When the Doctor returned to the living room, River was nowhere to be seen. A slight crease of bemusement and worry appearing between his eyes, he tentatively made his way down the hall to her bedroom.

“River?” he called quietly, hovering just outside her room. “Erm, I should get going-” he was abruptly cut off when River poked her head around the corner, and extended her hand.

“Come on, Doctor. It’s not polite to keep a woman waiting.” Instead of fumbling for the right thing to say, which could only have ended in disaster, the Doctor took her hand and let her pull him into her room. _I’m usually the one doing the hand-grabbing_ , the thought vaguely. _But then again, this_ is _River_.

“River?” he repeated, still confused.

“You’re the one who’s insisting I sleep,” she said with a shrug, releasing his hand and making her way over to her bed.

“Why do I have to be here for that?” the Doctor asked nervously.

“I told you, I don’t sleep. You _know_ why. You’re welcome to leave, of course, I can hardly force you to stay...but you must at least say good night before you fly away.” River spoke nonchalantly, but she held herself carefully, as if to guard herself against rebuke. And the Doctor could have kicked himself for not sooner comprehending what River could not quite bring herself to ask for.

“Would it be too much to ask if I could stay the night? It’s a rather long walk to the TARDIS, and it’s closer to morning now than evening anyway,” he asked hopefully, his brow wrinkling convincingly at the thought of having to go back outside.

“I thought you had to ‘get going?’” River queried suspiciously.

“I have a time machine; I could stay here for a week and still make it back five minutes after I left,” the Doctor reminded, a tiny smirk showing up, unbidden, on his lips. From the flash on intuition that manifested itself in the purse of River’s lips and the gratitude in her tired eyes, the Doctor knew she understood what he was doing for her.

“So what about it, eh? May I stay?” As River hesitated before answering, it struck them both how loaded a question that was, with so very much at stake. The Doctor’s past, her future, their life together, their backward timelines.

“Of course,” she answered softly.

“Lovely, I’ll just kip on the floor. D’you have a spare blanket I could borrow?” the Doctor wondered aloud, glancing around her room distractedly. If River was surprised by his decision to sleep on the floor of her room, she gave no indication.

“One moment,” she replied, holding up a finger as if to warn him not to leave. _Oh, River. As if I ever could._

Ten minutes later, the Doctor (now wearing a pair of River’s sweatpants and her large, TARDIS blue University shirt) had made a bed of blankets on River’s floor beside her four-poster. It bore a striking resemblance to a nest a tired, lonely child might make, but River was too sleepy to make fun of him for it. The Doctor and River stood facing each other now, she next to her bed and he on his.

“I can help you with the nightmares, River,” he promise softly, all levity forgotten for the moment. When she looked doubtful, he hurried to reassure her. “I can! It’ll take time, and trust, and this is too soon for you, I think. Besides, you should just rest now. But I’ll come again soon, and if you’re willing, I _will_ help you sort through them. I won’t be gone as long this time.”

“Come again,” River began gently, “and we’ll see.” The Doctor nodded his agreement, a rather sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Slowly, so as to not startle her and to give her enough time to stop him,  the Doctor leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Good night, River,” he murmured, stepping back with a smile.

“Good night, Doctor,” she replied.

They each made themselves comfortable in their respective beds before River switched off the light, leaving them in the quiet darkness of her bedroom. As she did every night, River awoke several hours after falling asleep, screaming and thrashing about. And as he had -- would -- for centuries, the Doctor roused himself and held her, consoling the distraught woman as best he could. Morning saw the ageless god wrapped around the healing psychopath, the man’s time with her slowly coming to a close, while the woman’s story was just beginning.


	3. Come Up For Air (Just So You Know We Won't Drown)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had always known River to be vivacious and sparkling, and it was painful for him to see her so diminished by the severe fatigue. It was getting to the point that he feared she may never become the River Song he married unless she were able to move on from the nightmares that haunted her nightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Paramore's "Proof."

The Doctor remained true to his word and returned to River only two weeks after finding her in the library. He continued to show up around her, usually on campus and always when she was alone. They would talk for hours, though a good amount of that could be more accurately described as verbal sparring. He would answer her personal questions as honestly as was possible without revealing too much foreknowledge. She would tell him about her studies, but skillfully skirt anything having to do with her past.

The Doctor had come and gone five time (spending the night on her bedroom floor each stay) before the topic of River’s nightmares was broached again. He was hesitant to push her before she was ready, and River was not the sort to trust easily. It took a great deal of concerned courage for the Doctor to bring himself to raise the subject with River. He was considerably nervous about asking her, but he knew she’d hardly been sleeping, and the exhaustion was wearing her down. He had always known River to be vivacious and _sparkling_ , and it was painful for him to see her so diminished by the severe fatigue. It was getting to the point that he feared she may never become the River Song he married unless she were able to move on from the nightmares that haunted her nightly.

Five in the afternoon found the Doctor in River’s kitchen and River just returning from her day of classes. She let herself in, hung up her coat and dropped her bag by the door, unaware that the Doctor was “home.” However, the illusion of solitude was shattered shortly; a moment after she walked through the door, the Doctor popped around the corner, grinning madly. River stopped dead in her tracks at the sight that met her: The Doctor in his usual shirt, pants, and bow tie, his jacket replaced by a pale pink, excessively frilly apron that River was _sure_ she didn’t own. Perched on his head was a tall white chef hat, which he swept off in a grand bow. For a long minute, River could only stare.

“Sweetie,” she began slowly, “what _are_ you wearing?” she asked with what she saw as an impressive show of patience. Through her exasperated amusement, River felt the familiar sense of gratification at using that particular endearment for the Doctor. After he had told her that only River Song gets to call him that, each time she _did_ use that name for him without rebuke felt like his acceptance of her as “his River.” As for the Doctor himself, he felt hopeful upon hearing her question his attire rather than his unexpected presence in her home.

“I got them from the TARDIS. What do you think?” he prompted brightly, twirling around with a flourish to show off his cooking garb. Instead of lying to appease his ego or being honest and dashing his rather endearing excitement, River chose to smirk in amusement.

“Come on through, come, come,” he went on, ushering her into the kitchen. “I’m making you dinner,” he announced proudly.

“You? Cooking? I fear for my kitchen,” River returned smoothly, slipping easily into their standard form of communication, which consisted of teasing banter, evasive answers, and sly innuendoes. The Doctor scowled at her with mock vexation.

“Oi! Rude!” he cried indignantly. River’s resolve crumbled -- she threw her head back and roared with laughter.

“I’m sorry, Sweetie,” she managed through her hysterics, gasping for breath. “But I can’t take you seriously in that!” She wiped away tears of mirth, snorting fondly as she gazed at the Doctor. He _harrumphed_ with no real annoyance; seeing River laugh with such abandon was the most marvelous thing he could imagine.

It was some time before River could calm herself down enough to hear anything the Doctor said, so he patiently waited her out. He flitted around the kitchen, pulling out spices, chopping vegetables, peering in the oven and generally making a great show of  cooking, all to the sounds of River’s hearty amusement. Eventually, he was able to convince her to go put her things away and clean up for dinner. As soon as she had disappeared into her bedroom, he hurried back to the TARDIS (which was parked in the living room) and retrieved the dinner he’d had the Ponds help him make.

As they neared the end of their dinner (which River had declared delicious, albeit suspiciously), the Doctor prepared himself to ask about the nightmares.

“River,” he started carefully, “you know I care about you and I’ll be there when you need me, right?”

“Of course I do, Sweetie. What brought this on?” she asked, looking at him with concern.

“And you know I worry about you.” This time it wasn’t a question. “Do you trust me?” He remembered with sudden clarity the first time he had met her, in The Library. Oh, how she had trusted him then.

“Yes.” She thought for a moment that she had seen the briefest flash of pain in his kind eyes, but it was gone so quickly that she wondered if she had imagined it.

“Will you let me help with your nightmares?” River hesitated, unsure of what that would entail and afraid of what he might find in her dreams. “ _Please_ , River. I cannot stand to see you suffer.”

“Yes,” she repeated a moment later.  There was no doubting his sincerity, and seeing him plead with her was more than even _she_ could be asked to endure.

“Thank you,” he told her earnestly, aware of how much she was trusting him with. “All right, we’ll start after dinner, then. We’re going to need time, somewhere comfortable and safe where we won’t be interrupted by anything, and because of the connection we’re going to forge, I think it’s best to do this in the TARDIS. Her telepathic field will amplify the connection, which’ll be helpful for our first go.”

“Connection? Telepathic field? _First go?_ As in, we’re going to be doing this again?” River questioned.

“Er, yes. Time Lords have the ability to connect on a mental and emotional level, although it isn’t something one shares with anyone. It’s highly personal, and not always used the way we’re about to. _We_ are going to use it to allow me to enter the part of your mind that’s supplying the nightmares -- most likely, it’ll be memories, trauma, and whatever is left over from the people who...trained you.

“As for the telepathic field, d’you remember when the TARDIS showed you how to fly her in Berlin? The TARDIS gets in your head when you board her, and well, she recognized you. She exists throughout all of space and time -- she knows all that has ever happened or ever will. The moment you walked through her doors, she understood who you were and who you would become. She trusted you. She showed you how to save you parents, who she’s also quite fond of, although for some reason she thinks _Rory_ is the pretty one,” the Doctor explained, rolling his eyes a bit at the end. He remained quiet while River worked though what she had just learned.

“All right,” she nodded several minutes later. “What about the third question?” The Doctor mentally rewound their conversation, and surprised River by blushing when he remembered.

“Ah,” he started awkwardly. “That. Yes, well, like I said, this _connection_ is used for more than working through nightmares. It’s, ah, a profoundly intimate element traditionally incorporated into other Time Lord...traditions.” The Doctor sighed, knowing that was a rubbish answer. He was walking a very fine line between wanting to be honest with River so that she would trust him, and not giving away too much foreknowledge. Older, married-to-him River probably wouldn’t be overly thrilled about him telling anyone -- even her younger self -- about their sex life. Thankfully, River was a very clever woman and was able to make sense of his confused rambling, and understanding settled in the lines of her face.

“Don’t tell me any more about our future,” she warned, holding up a hand to forestall any further explanations. _That’s my River_ , The Doctor thought proudly. “So, to be clear: you’re going to take me into the TARDIS, engage me in a ‘highly person and profoundly intimate mental and emotional connection’ that allows you access to my innermost thoughts and memories,” River clarified bluntly. The Doctor flushed under her direct gaze, but he refused to falter, not when he believed he could alleviate her pain. She had suffered _enough_ because of him.

“Yes,” he said carefully, “to help you, River.”

“My mind isn’t a very pretty place, Sweetie,” she warned, trying to come off as nonchalant, but her voice quavered.

“Melody Pond. River Song. I will care for you, whatever it takes. You don’t have to hide yourself from me. I’ll always forgive you. All I can ask of you is to let me help you.” The Doctor started out speaking seriously, but the desperation he felt leaked through at the end.

“But _why?_ ” River asked, both demanding and beseeching. “Why do you care?”

“Because you’re brilliant. You are absolutely the most incredible person I have ever known. And I know you haven’t gotten there yet, but I have spent centuries getting to know you, and everything I find simply amazes me. It’s not just about the _good_ you’ve done -- will do -- or all that you accomplish in your time, it’s all the things you have to overcome. Me, for one, and your conditioning, years and years of it...River, no one should be able to do what you did, but you _beat_ it. You decided to save the man you were programmed, trained and raised to kill. You made a _choice_. And you never stop being astounding, River, never ever.”

“I had to find out,” River said quietly, as if that explained everything. At the Doctor’s puzzled expression, she added, “After you told me to find ‘River Song’ and give her a message, Amy told the Tesselecta to show us her, show us ‘River Song.’ And then it became _me_ , and I had to know. I had to discover why you would ever have cause to love me, how you could ever forgive me. I had to find out.”

“I owe you more than you could ever imagine. So much more. And it’s my fault, what happened to you. I wasn’t able to keep them from taking you, and I didn’t find you in time. You’re a coalescence of the _best_ things in the Universe -- the Ponds, the TARDIS, time itself! You _matter_. To the Universe, you matter. And to me.” When the Doctor finished speaking, silence hung between them for an immeasurable amount of time.

“Well, best get on with it, then,” River replied at last, speaking through her suppressed tears.

“Yes, yes,” the Doctor agreed, smiling. “Here, I’ll clear this up. Go and reacquaint yourself with the TARDIS. I’ll join you in a moment; make yourself at home.” River nodded gratefully, rose, and went off to the living room while the Doctor began clearing up their dishes from dinner.

River stood before the blue police box, arms folded across her chest as she eyed it warily. Her eyes scanned over the sign on the front door. _Pull to open_. Though she rather doubted anything with the Doctor was quite that straightforward, she nevertheless stepped forward, grabbed the door handle, twisted and pulled. To her surprise, it opened effortlessly to reveal the TARDIS’ dimly lit interior. She entered somewhat hesitantly, smiling when she heard the contented hum of the TARDIS in the back of her mind.

“Hello,” she said softly, wandering further inside and leaving the door open behind her. The only response from the TARDIS was a brightening of lights and a warm breeze in the otherwise cool, still air. River walked around to the far side of the console, remembering the last time she had been in here, when the TARDIS had taught her how to fly her. Not doubting that someday she would be at the controls again, River bypassed the console.

The first room off the seemingly endless hallway didn’t have a door, so she didn’t feel all that guilty about stepping into it. She looked around with interest; it seemed to be some kind of living room. There were several plush chairs, and a rather luxurious sofa. It didn’t look terribly lived in, but neither was it perfectly neat and unused. It appeared rather like it was used rarely, but recently. There were a few books strewn across the coffee table, the coaster were out, and a blanket was heaped on one side of the couch, along with several articles of clothing. Curious, River approached the couch and snagged the closest piece of clothing. She raised an eyebrow -- a woman’s blouse with a good number of the buttons missing. _Hmm_. She picked up  the next item. This time she discovered an elegant, lacy black bra. At that moment, River sensed the Doctor’s presence behind her. She wasn’t entirely sure how she knew he was there, but she rather suspected it had something to do with the TARDIS.

“Sweetie?” she prompted as she turned to face him, her smile saccharine. He blushed deeply when he saw the unhooked bra and ravished blouse that she held up, one in each hand.

“Oh,” he said brilliantly. “I- Ah- This room shouldn’t even be on this floor. I can’t imagine why the TARDIS would...I’m so sorry. I haven’t gotten ‘round to tidying up yet.” River couldn’t help but chuckle at his apologetic, flustered explanation. Confusion replaced his embarrassment when she cocked her head as if she were listening to something only she could hear.

“Oh, I understand,” River sighed after a minute, a genuine smile returning to her face.

“Care to enlighten me?” The Doctor questioned hopefully.

“She -- the TARDIS -- wanted to show me that it’s safe here. That I’m always welcome, that I’ll be loved. Apparently with quite a bit of enthusiasm, if this is anything to go by,” she relayed, adding the last sentence in a throaty, suggestive purr, her viridescent eyes glittering with amusement. Still, the gentle curve of her lips spoke volumes about her gratitude.

“She told you all that?!” the Doctor asked incredulously.

“Yes, why? Worried about ‘spoilers?’”

“Well, yes, a bit. But this-” he waved his hand vaguely “-is fine. You _should_ know that with us -- the TARDIS and me -- you’re safe, wanted, and deeply cared for. But, she _told_ you that? As in, _spoke_ to you?”

“Erm,” River frowned, biting her lip. “Yes? It was a mixture of words and images, _feelings_ , but the message was abundantly clear.”

“That’s marvelous! Really and truly brilliant! She never communicates with visitors directly. But then, you’re not just a visitor, are you? She knows your parents, of course, but it’s more than that. You’re her- She views you as her...” The Doctor struggled for the right word, attempting to translate the impressions the TARDIS had left in his mind.

“Daughter,” River finished for him, her voice soft. The Doctor’s face broke into a broad grin.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“So, I take it these are mine? Or will be?” River queried, dangling the bra and blouse tantalizingly as she sauntered over to where he stood framed in the doorway.

“Er, y-yes,” he answered, making a grab for them, but River danced out of his reach with a laugh.

“How did you not notice future-me leaving with neither blouse nor bra?” she asked, grinning cheekily.

“You _have_ clothes here, River,” he sighed, his eyes still on the brassier.

“I _do_? Judging by _these_ , they must be fabulous. And if we’re going by the state of the blouse, easily replaceable too, I’d imagine,” she reasoned thoughtfully, her eyes flickering between the clothes in her hands and the Doctor’s face.

“Yes, River, you have an endless closet. Now may we _please_ start what we’re actually here to do?” he responded impatiently. River laughed, both in delight and at his child-like impatience.

“Yes, dear. Now, lead on,” she obliged, tossing the clothes at him, easily side-stepping him to return to the hallway. The Doctor huffed in frustration, removing the bra from his head with a strangled groan. Wife-River’s seductive, subtly floral scent still clung to the fabric, which was warm from where young-River had been gripping it moments before. _Jasmine_ , he thought vaguely. _Smells like jasmine._ Abruptly overwhelmed with the desire to find out if _this_ River smelled of the same intoxicating, sweet flower, he grabbed her hand and led her into an adjacent room.


	4. I Don't Know How To Live Through This Hell (Woken Up, I'm Still Locked In This Shell)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s going to be all right,” he murmured after a few minutes. “You’re going to be fine, I promise.”  
> “The thing is, I do know that,” River sighed, her overwhelming exhaustion seeping into her tone. “I just can’t see how to get there from here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Metallica's "Trapped Under Ice."

With one hand still clutching River’s blouse and bra and the other holding her hand, the Doctor somehow managed to close the door behind them.

“All right, so I figured this would be the best place for it, he said, gesturing broadly at the room they had just entered. River took in her surroundings, wondering with trepidation what they were going to be doing that would require so much padding.

“Why the cushions?” she asked, pointing to the center of the room, which was taken by a circular depression in the floor two feet deep. The floor within in the circle appeared to be one large mattress, and the perimeter was ringed with pillows, all varying in size and color. She snorted in amusement -- it looked a bit like a child’s playroom.

“Don’t worry, they’re only meant to help you relax. This can take rather a long time, and it’s going to wear you out. I just wanted you to be comfortable,” the Doctor assured her, a new hint of shyness creeping into his tone. Not having the words to express how much his thoughtfulness meant to her, River stretched up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. However, she slightly underestimated how tall he was in relation to her, and her lips actually landed on his jaw, parting slightly in surprise. His hand clenched around hers and the breath _whooshed_ out of his lungs when the tip of her tongue brushed against his smooth skin. River gripped his arms to steady herself as she pulled back, and rested her forehead against his shoulder, slowly releasing a shaky breath. Finally tossing aside the blouse and piece of lingerie, the Doctor traced soothing circles on her upper back.

“It’s going to be all right,” he murmured after a few minutes. “You’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“The thing is, I _do_ know that,” River sighed, her overwhelming exhaustion seeping into her tone. “I just can’t see how to get _there_ from _here_.” The Doctor turned his head, burying his face in her wild, soft curls and pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so quietly that she almost didn’t hear him. River allowed herself to relax into his embrace. As her mind strayed to his reaction to her kiss, she realized for the first time how incredibly difficult this must be on his end. For him to look at her and see the woman he loved -- however misplaced she believed his love to be -- and for her to look back at him without the reciprocating complete trust and care he must be used to...With renewed determination, River kissed his throat in thanks before extricating herself from his arms. This time, the unhurried movement of her lips against his warm skin was deliberately sensual, and there was a hint of smugness in her smile when she looked at him.

“Show me how to get there, Sweetie,” she requested, squeezing his hand.

“Your wish is my command,” he grinned, bowing exaggeratedly and tipping an imaginary hat, his response marginally delayed as he recovered from the feel of her smiling lips against his neck. _She_ does _smell like jasmine_ , he thought distractedly, inordinately pleased. River rolled her eyes, and let him pull her over to the circular depression. He hopped down, then gallantly extended his hand to help her down. She ignored the offer, and elegantly stepped into the depression on her own.

“So, I said this takes time. That’s because you have to be asleep for this to work properly, since we’re dealing with dreams. Also, the connection is facilitated through skin contact...” the Doctor began, sitting on the rim of the circle. 

“So I’ll have to undress.” It wasn’t really a question, more a frank statement of understanding.

“Not completely, but a bit, yes.”

River was quiet. Oh, she hardly gave a second thought about being in her underclothes around the Doctor, but her abdominal muscles fluttered anxiously at the prospect of falling asleep and of the Doctor finally seeing her nightmares. The very worst of her, which she tried so hard to keep form him...The crippling guilt and residual anger, and the memories buried in her subconscious, of her being hurt and hurting others in equal measure. Above all else, River feared that the Doctor would find the tiny but persistent part of her that she loathed the most: the part of her that _blamed him_.

 Sensing her nerves and partly guessing the reasons behind them, the Doctor cautiously rested a soothing hand on River’s waist, gently tugging her forward. He could think of nothing more to tell her to make this easier for her, so he simply gazed up at her, and lowered the careful barriers he kept up whenever he was around a younger River. His ancient green eyes held such love, trust, and open adoration for her that River’s own eyes stung with un-shed tears.

“Just sleep, and let me take care of the rest,” he said quietly, his fingers lightly stroking her hip. She nodded. The Doctor got to his feet, and River allowed him to unbutton her shirt. His nimble fingers worked efficiently but with unexpected care, his hands not straying anywhere they shouldn’t. He pushed the shirt over her shoulders, leaving her bra untouched. She quickly slipped out of her trousers, setting them with her other clothes, present getting all mixed up with future. The Doctor started unbuttoning his own shirt, but to his surprise, River stilled his hands and took over the job. Next, he unfastened his belt and added his trousers to the growing pile of clothing. Now, River was left in only her knickers and brassier, and The Doctor in his boxer shorts. She smiled, took his hand and pulled him down to lay beside her. They curled around each other as if they had been doing it their whole lives; River’s head resting on The Doctor’s chest, pressed up against his side, his arms wrapped loosely around her. His fingers running comfortingly through her hair until he felt her breathing even out, and he knew she was asleep. Closing his own eyes, the Doctor cupped the nape of her neck with his hand and allowed his mind to seek out River’s dreaming consciousness.


	5. Wrapped Up In Armor With a Shield To Defend Her Heart and Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I’m not going to ask you for your future or your love, I can’t, I won’t. But mine are yours regardless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Perma's "She Chose You."

“So. You got to be inside my mind. Did it meet your expectations?” River asked lightly, turning away from the Doctor as she pulled her shirt back on to hide her anxious expression from him. He waited semi-patiently for her to face him, taking the time to slip into his trouser and his shirt; he had buttoned the shirt halfway up when she glanced at him. He spoke carefully, abandoning the shirt as he tried to coherently  express an experience that surpassed language.

“It was _you_ on such a deep level, so very you, more _you_ than even you know. It was a lifetime of secrets and vulnerabilities, the way you look at the world when you think no one is watching. It was your incredible bravery in the face of everything, your persistence and your quiet fortitude. It was your warmth and the way you take _care_ of people -- of me, of Amy and Rory...But River, have you never once wondered who takes care of _you_?” He paused, stepping closer to her.

“The answer is quite simple, really, and I hope you’ll believe it now. _Me_ ,” the Doctor finished with a smile, stuffing his hands in his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“You love me.” It wasn’t a question, yet River still sounded unsure of herself.

“Yes,” the Doctor agreed without hesitation.

“I could feel it. I was dreaming, and then you were there, and I could taste what you felt for me. It wove itself into the structure of my mind, melded with the dreamscape, almost as if...”

“Almost as if it were alive,” the Doctor finished softly. “River, our story, it’s happening all across time. As one of ours ends, the other’s starts. It’s a paradox, an endless paradox. We’re special, you and I. We’re both time travelers, we’re both Time Lords, or in your case human _plus_ Time Lord. Both entirely unique in the universe. We exist outside of time. What I feel for you, it echoes through the stars, calling at the beginning and the end of time, seeing the universe through from its inception to its obliteration. Beyond everything, before and after time and space, there is you and me. And I’m not going to ask you for your future or your love, I can’t, I won’t. But mine are yours regardless.” He halted again, and he blushed, as if his brain had caught up with his mouth. Still, he forged ahead, tugging River into a careful embrace.

“I know you blame me,” he whispered, his mouth at her ear and his hands settling over her back soothingly as she started to protest. “And I know you feel guilty. Maybe we don’t deserve each other, and maybe we do, but love isn’t fair, River. We’ve made mistakes, and we’ll make more. Between the two of us, we’ve amassed enough guilt to feed legions of Monsgriths, which are, er, blind, grey canines that prey on people’s guilt. _Anyway_.

“We mustn’t let the anger, and the blame, and the guilt, and the other swirly, murky feelings overshadow everything else. We make our own choices, River. I mean, there may be a few events that are just a tad _fixed_ , but your mind is gorgeous and very much _your own_.” The Doctor took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut and allowing himself a moment to simply breathe in the safe, alive, healthy, courageous woman pressed against him.

“I didn’t protect your mother as well as I should have. I didn’t find you in time, although that, that’s more complicated. You’re allowed to be angry, River, and you’re allowed to blame me. But I swear to you, I will always come when you call, and if you ever decide that it’ll be funny and clever and sexy to, say, jump out of spaceship, I’ll be there to catch you.” River understood how serious the Doctor was being, but she couldn’t quite suppress a chuckle. She tucked her face into the Doctor’s shoulder in a a vain attempt to muffle her giggles. Her fingers clutched at the nape of his neck, her broad smile pressed against his shoulder, her body shaking with laughter.

“Oh, Sweetie,” she managed breathlessly, “I think we’ll be just fine.”

“More than fine, Song,” the Doctor grinned, pulling back to beam at her, relieved that she was so radiant, even if he was a bit miffed at being laughed at. “There’ll be running -- _so_ much running -- and you’ll shoot things, and we’ll go dancing, and you’ll fly the TARDIS, and God you’re beautiful and brilliant and brave. Ssh, mouth, ssh!” River collapsed into another bout of laughter at the Doctor’s dismay at his own rambling, though this time she pressed soft kisses to his neck to quiet him. His words were cut off in a surprised squeak, his hand flexing on her waist, but he didn’t push her away.

“I can’t wait for all of it,” River breathed against his collar bone, a half-smile still pulling at the corners of her mouth. The Doctor swallowed, pain and love constricting his chest in equal measure. She had all of that ahead of her, while he had to find his precious days when and where he still could. The vibrant, battle-ready beauty that was his wife was nearly gone from his life now, leaving him with a heartbreaking treasure trove of memories that would both haunt and sustain him for the remainder of his days. _Days,_ he mused bitterly, _that River would never see, could never be a part of. And she deserves so much more,_ he thought with a surge of anger. His fingers pressed into her lower back, the weight of her against him serving to ground him somewhat. _She is here_ now _, she is alive and breathing, and she made me promise. And I won’t, I won’t re-write even so much as a line of our time together. She must chose her own way, and whatever pain it brings her, I cannot...Cannot take away that choice from her. Not when she has at last found her freedom. Whatever else she has, I will fight for her to keep_ that _._


	6. My Stardust Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So where are you taking me, you ridiculous man?” River asked, smirking as she parted her legs until he stood between them.  
> “Somewhere completely brilliant,” he vowed, grinning up at her. “I hope you’ve got your running shoes, River Song.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Hoagy Carmichael's "Stardust."

He was late. _The sad part_ , River mused, _is that I’m not even surprised. Gods help me, I find it_ endearing. A week, it had been, since the Doctor had left her last Tuesday morning, with a kiss that was precious in its rarity pressed into her sleepy curls. _Next Tuesday morning_ , he had promised her. Seven days only, an inconceivably short amount of time for this particular couple -- merely an instant in time compared to the weeks, months, years that River would spend waiting for him. But that was still in her future, and today, she was impatient, and he was late.

River was seated on her kitchen counter, aimlessly swinging her legs back and forth, _The History of the Miner’s Revolution of Pyth_ resting on her lap, open to the beginning of Chapter 11. Her obstreperous curls were pulled back from her face with a red scrunchie that had seen better days, its elasticity nearly shot. Determined not to sit around doing nothing while she waited for her...The Doctor, River was actually quite engrossed in the horrid conditions that had led the miners to revolt on the planet Pyth, when she heard the familiar _vworgh vworgh_ of the TARDIS materializing. Despite herself, a smile tugged at her lips; she finished the sentence she was reading, carefully bookmarked her page, and set the tome aside.

“Hi, Honey, I’m home!” the Doctor called loudly as he tripped excitedly through River’s front door. He skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway, casually lounging against the frame in an attempt to appear suave. River muffled her laughter, and schooled her expression into one of reproach.

“And what sort of time do you call this?” she demanded, arching one eyebrow menacingly. The Doctor merely laughed, apparently delighted by her response, and bounced over to where she was perched.

“So where are you taking me, you ridiculous man?” River asked, smirking as she parted her legs until he stood between them.

“Somewhere completely brilliant,” he vowed, grinning up at her. “I hope you’ve got your running shoes, River Song.”

 

River made it to the TARDIS first, slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“In, in, quickly!” the Doctor panted, coming up behind her and making nervous hurrying gestures. River pulled open the blue doors that promised safety and adventure in nearly equal measure, darting inside with the flash of a grin tossed over her shoulder. The Doctor quickly closed the door behind them, then spun to face her, his eyes bright as he took her in. Her hair tie had been shot off, so narrowly had River herself been missed. Her hair, which now tumbled freely around her face, was a bit singed, and its corkscrews had coiled even more tightly as if in indignation. Umber dirt was smudged across her shoulders and just below the hollow of her collar bone, though it was the latter that drew the Doctor’s gaze. There was something absurdly alluring about this particular combination of soft, sun-soaked skin and constellation of freckles half hidden beneath a layer of red dust. It reminded the Doctor, with startling vividness, of times he had accompanied an older, more demonstrative River on her archaeological digs. That was when, he decided, he had grown so fond of dust -- at least when worn by his wife, the perfectly wicked, fearless Professor Song.

The woman standing before him now may not have been his wife, or a Professor of archaeology, or quite as fearless or even all that wicked, but she still, and would always remain to him, both Melody Pond and River Song, the woman who had died the day he had found her. She was, however, also the woman who had lived in glorious brilliance for centuries; many, _many_ days and nights of which she had spent, would spend and was, indeed, _spending_ with him.

“I must say, River, adventure suits you,” the Doctor beamed, taking her hand. She laughed as he tugged her toward him, and steadied herself with her free hand against his chest. His gentle, hazel-green eyes sparkled down at her, and as she looked up into them searchingly, she found no trace of the sadness she’d oft caught glimpses of. Seeing him like this, effervescent with adrenaline, the triumph of survival, and unmitigated adoration, was strangely exhilarating. River could see with abrupt clarity just how effortlessly, and how surely, she would fall in love with this man. In such early days as these, however, she had no inkling as to how much suffering their love would cause them both. She did recognize that his being here with her at her beginning when he was so near to the end himself was an incredible testament to his choice, that he had chosen _her_ , no matter what it would cost him later.

“You’re happy,” River murmured, shaping one hand to his cheek.

“My time with you is extraordinarily precious to me. And you still have _so many_ wondrous things ahead of you. You’re not just _going_ to be amazing, you know. You already _are_.”

“Thank you, Sweetie.” River smiled, stretching up to place a coquettish, yet grateful kiss on his surprised mouth.

“My mother tells me you have a pool -- care to go for a swim?” she asked, stepping back from the Doctor a bit.

“Yes, yes, that would be brilliant. We’ll have to find it first, of course; the TARDIS keeps moving it, you see. The closet should be fully stocked for you, anything you need--” River couldn’t help herself, and began to chuckle quietly, indulgently amused by his babbling. The Doctor cut himself off as his focus narrowed on River and her low, sultry laugh, and her chaotic, honey-colored curls.

“I never _have_ been overly fond of swimsuits,” she told him, her tone low and confidential as she leaned into him, before dancing away toward the hall. She glanced back at him for a brief moment, then deftly pulled her grey-blue tank-top off over her head and cast it aside. Startled by the play of her toned back muscles beneath her newly exposed golden skin (and half-convinced that at least one of his hearts had stopped beating), the Doctor followed a moment behind her. As flustered as he was by her suddenness, he smiled to think about how is younger self might have reacted to River’s state of undress, and stumbled after her, still grinning. Knowing her as well as he did, he could tell that while her happiness and sexuality were entirely genuine (having survived many escapades with her, he was well familiar with her euphoric mood upon their return), her confidence was partially false, constructed to cover her insecurities. He also understood, however, that she, in all her stubborn, splendorous ferocity, would not be be doing this if she were not certain that she wanted to. So he hurried to catch up to her, even managing not to trip, and gently rested his hand on the small of her back. She turned to gaze up at him, and beamed at whatever she saw in his expression.

“A swim, eh?” he queried, his lips twitching up into a grin. “Lead the way, River Song. I’m right with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for this piece. Hope you enjoyed it, and that you think I did these dear characters justice. I'll write more for our favorite space idiots, but it'll be more standalone fics.


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